


The Only One I Wanna Talk About

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [30]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:56:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: A Time Lord walks into a bar to celebrate his impending nuptials. When he walks out, he only wants to talk about one thing: Clara Oswald.





	The Only One I Wanna Talk About

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xXdreameaterXx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/gifts).



> This idea was born during a car journey across the German countryside with Chrissi. Happy birthday, my favourite idiot.

As stag dos go, he had to admit that this one had been particularly exemplary. He couldn’t quantify precisely _why_ — his recollections of any previous such events he’d attended had blissfully slipped away from him thanks to the alcohol he’d consumed — but he knew that this one was especially excellent, mostly because people had kept telling him so during the course of the evening. Kate had told him five times. Osgood had told him twice, to his considerable surprise, although he was almost certain that she had limited points of reference to compare the night’s events to. Even _Missy,_ anti-human as she was, had told him, then put him into a cab with this strange, ethereally beautiful woman to ensure he got home safe. 

Right, the woman. She was human, that much he could tell, and she was — for some inexplicable reason — smirking like a cat that had got the cream. That was odd. Not as odd as he probably looked right now, garbed as he was in a motley collection of his past selves’ clothing, but still. Odd. He should possibly attempt something normal. Normal human interaction; that was something Clara was always reminding him to do. 

“Hello,” he began confidently. Names. Names were always a good, polite idea, not least because it gave people something to shout in an emergency. Well, something other than ‘oi, you.’ “I’m the Doctor.” 

“I know you are.” 

“I’m getting married,” he asserted next, feeling that this was something he should state for the record. Clara would probably appreciate it, and the way that this driver was looking at him — Clara would _definitely_ appreciate it. Did all taxi drivers smirk that much? What was so amusing about him, other than the bizarre clothes? “To this really wonderful girl.”

“Oh?” she quirked an eyebrow, not taking her eyes off the road. Clara did the same thing with her eyebrows. He _loved_ it when Clara did it, and he felt a sudden rush of affection for his fiancée, who was tucked up at home in bed, eagerly awaiting his return. Or watching Netflix. One or the other. Possibly both. “What’s her name?” 

“Clara,” he said with an enormous, involuntary, soppy grin. “Her name’s Clara, and she’s just… she’s the best human I’ve ever met. The best person. Oops. Shouldn’t say ‘human’ to other humans, she says it makes me sound weird. She says lots of things to me, actually. She tells me off a lot and makes sure I’m not rude. She used to say I was rude and it was difficult for her, and I don’t want to disappoint her so now I work hard to make sure I’m _nice_.” 

“That sounds…” she paused for a moment, considering her next words. “Very thoughtful of you.”

“M’very thoughtful. I’ve bought her a present for our wedding. Something pretty. She deserves something pretty, you know? She’s a very pretty human. Person. Human. Woman. Girl. Lady. So, she should have something pretty. She’s got these _big_ eyes and this cute little nose and she smiles like… she smiles and it’s like a star being born.” Oh no. He could feel himself getting tearful at the mere thought of his fiancée, and yet somehow… well, somehow he didn’t care. The alcohol took care of that. “And she’s a tiny little thing, she really is, but she hugs me and she tucks her head under my chin and she says it makes her feel so safe. And I love feeling like I can protect her, because she deserves to be safe and happy and loved.” 

“I’m sure she’s not that tiny.” 

“She is. She’s perfect, though. She wears these silly shoes to be taller because she thinks it makes a difference to me, but they don’t at all. I mean.. they’re easier when we kiss, but she’s instigating sitting-down kisses now because it spares both our backs. We have lots of sitting-down kisses, and then sometimes… well, other things. You know. Couple things.”

“Should you be telling people about your sex life?”

“It’s a good sex life!” he protested. “M’very proud of it. I used to not like being touched and then she did some things — hugging things, not sex things — and now I like it. I like it when she touches me. I don’t like other people doing it.”

“So, if I did this…” the driver reached over and placed one hand on his arm. “It wouldn’t… I don’t know, trigger anything?” 

He stared down at the offending body part with horror. “Unhand me,” he insisted, trying and failing to shake her away from him. Clara would be horrified. People shouldn’t touch him unless it was her — not without good reason, like having their lives saved, or being terrified, and even then… not really. “At once!” 

Immediately the hand was withdrawn, although not without an accompanying snort of laughter. 

“It isn’t funny!” he all but shouted. “You can’t just accost your passengers without their permission, especially not when they’re engaged to be married!”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a placatory tone. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Tell me more about Clara.” 

He felt the same soppy grin from moments before return to his face. “She’s amazing. She makes me feel young again. And when she smiles it’s like… like I’d do anything in the world to make sure she keeps smiling. She deserves to smile all the time, because she’s the bestest human I’ve ever met and she deserves all the love in the world and sometimes I wonder… sometimes I wonder if I can give her everything she deserves.”

The taxi came to a halt as he felt tears prick his eyes, and squinting into the darkness, he realised they were home. 

“Doctor,” the driver took a deep breath, looking over at him in the darkness. “You can.” 

“How do you-” 

She moved before he could stop her, pressing her lips to his and he felt a sense of horror rise in him at once, pushing her forcefully away and shaking his head. This was wrong. Clara would be _cross_ , and she would be _vengeful_ , and he would be in so much trouble, and- 

“No,” he mumbled, clambering out of the car and all but sprinting inside, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and feeling a rising sense of shame. “No, no, no…” 

He raced up the stairs, tripping over his own feet as he went, and then collapsed face-down onto the bed. The last thing he was aware of before passing out was the bed sinking as someone sat beside him, and he reached instinctively for them as he slipped into embarrassed, ashamed oblivion.

 

* * *

 

“Morning,” a voice beside him murmured, and he cracked one eye open experimentally before immediately wincing in pain. Bad plan. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, and- 

At the thought of his mouth, his memories returned to him and he jolted awake, sitting bolt upright and feeling himself beginning to hyperventilate. 

“Hey,” the owner of the voice said soothingly, reaching over and taking his hands. It took him a moment to focus on her before he realised it was Clara, and somehow her concern only made it worse. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s just a hangover, you’ll be alright. I’ve made coffee, and there’s toast and paracetamol waiting downstairs. Or you can have it up here, if you’d-” 

“I kissed someone,” he blurted, his stomach churning with guilt, and he dropped his gaze to the duvet, unable to meet her gaze. “Last night in the taxi on the way home, the driver… she was asking me all sorts of questions and then she… she…” 

Clara started to laugh. Disconcerted and ashamed, he felt his face turn maroon, and he fought to keep himself from crying with embarrassment. 

“What?” he muttered sourly, glowering up at her. “What’s funny?” 

“That…” she stopped laughing, affixing him with a fondly exasperated look. “That was me, daft old man.” 

“No, it was a taxi driver.” 

“Nope, definitely me.” 

“But…” 

“Missy phoned me and explained that you were drunk and you needed a lift home, because god knows what kind of weird things you’d have said to an _actual_ taxi driver, so I picked you up from the pub.” 

“But…” 

“You didn’t recognise me? I’m actually quite offended.” 

It took him a panicked moment to realise she was joking. 

“You were being really sweet, so I didn’t have the heart to try and tell you. Besides, you’d only have gone all Gallifreyan and indignant and refused to believe me anyway, so there wasn’t much point. I thought the kiss would have given it away but then you bolted.” 

“I thought…” he felt tears burn his eyes as relief coursed through him. “I really thought…” 

“Hey,” she said softly, climbing onto his lap and resting a palm against each of his cheeks. “Hey, it’s alright. I trust you. I will always trust you. And…” 

“And?” 

“And you can absolutely give me everything I deserve. If not more. I love you.” 

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No more taxi driver roleplay, please.” 

“No more drinking, please.” 

“Deal.”


End file.
